


howling for a brand new start

by NicuCostam



Series: Blarnis'lan - Cornflower Girl [2]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Solavellan, Ugh, i guess, well of sorrows - freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 09:28:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11124393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicuCostam/pseuds/NicuCostam
Summary: AU where Lavellan comes along on Dread's Wolf din'anshiral.





	howling for a brand new start

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Lament za nowym początkiem](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10780485) by [NicuCostam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NicuCostam/pseuds/NicuCostam). 



> It's the first time I publish something that I translated myself, so yeah... I hope it's not so bad?

_"Like cold blood in my veins"_

He looks at me surprised, concerned. Worried. He frowns and has sadness in eyes. I think, everything is alright, is good, and I hope that it somehow reach him. Because it would be too hard for me to say that at loud. I would be afraid that he could see through my white lie.

Instead, I lean down and point out paragraph of writing, glyph, that I read over his shoulder. Now it seems easy as never before.

 _"They run like wolves, like the cold blood through my veins"_ I repeat. And even though I don't know the context, I know I translated it perfectly. Even better. The same way elf making this glyph felt in their heart. Like there isn't the whole world between me and them.

Solas writes my translation on a piece of paper. And then moves it far away, like he a ended working on this like he's making a break. He pulls a hand to draw me to himself, to hug me. Maybe even get me on his lap.

But I let him only hold my fingers and I sit on a desk he sits journey. When he moves his pads on my knuckles I feel like my skin is burning. I don't remember how long I had such cold hands. How long he's on fire. There's something very intimate in this touch. He turns around my hand studying mark. If I close my eyes I couldn't feel anything.

 _"Vhenan"_ he whispers. "What would I do without you…" He lays his face on my lap, still holding my hand.

With my free hand, I touch his head.

I think, that he needs a moment to catch a breath. A bit of time without threats, without planning, without studying ancient and forgotten. That he needs me and I can, should, give him sunny, lazy afternoon, even if it isn't so much.

I think also, that easily I could freeze heart and rip his soul apart. As punishment for all sins, lies, and arrogance. For leaving me in old wyvern's nest.

(Yet, somewhere inside I feel that we're not balanced at all.)

I look around our studio, round atrium. Despite different mosaics and wild felandaris, it's still resembling Skyhold. Probably we just belong to places like this. Ancient elven towers, where Veil is so thin that spirits seem to speak right to mind, skipping completely ears. But we don't mind. Here we feel _whole_.

"You know what spirits tell me?" I whispered once, lying beside him on the bed we made together, from furs, with a canopy of crystal grace. "I ask them about my family, but they speak only in death languages about things I should not repeat to you."

"Then don't." He said as it's easy like this.

"They say I could wash my skin in ancient fires. Come out of them reborn and beautiful. Be free again." I kissed him before he could interrupt me and then I whispered again, right to his lips. "I know it's deceit. They called me _Blarnis'lan_ , Cornflower Girl. But only father called me that."

Another time, he had a fire in eyes and shouted so loud that whole wilds must have heard him.

"You shouldn't take knowledge from Vir'abelasan! It's too much. Not like this! _Fenedhis!_ " He was furious, sparks of magic shot from his fingers. I should have run, cry, beg. But then I just hissed quietly, full of venom I felt never before. I said to him:

"This all is your fault, Solas. This mark, the Well, even that now I'm here. You made me yours, so now deal with it."

* * *

My left hand is dead.

We don't talk about it. Knowledge, our awareness of it hanging in the air, is just enough.

I still can move with it, do simple things, and nothing hurts anymore. It changes nothing. Because when I touch his jaw I don't feel warmth under my fingers. I don't feel the magic that could heal us.

So it's quite logical that my left hand is dead.

And yet, I still hold on it. (Like on my vallaslin)

When I silently ask spirit for guidance they scream at me. _"Tainted! Lost! You will find only sorrow." "Reject his gifts before they consume you!"_

But those are proofs that once I had another life. Dead hand and slave marks are only things left of my childhood...

"Welcome to  _Thene'Teralas_ , Tower of Dreams." Says Solas as he walks through eluvian, two of his trusted agents behind him. Here, in our hidden place. The home without a roof and crumbled by felandaris floors.

I pointlessly pull sleeves of my tunic. Those elves with not marked faces would see green glow of my skin even through a fabric. And even if not, half of world has to hear about a disappearance of dalish inquisitor, when she was tracking agent of Fen'harel. Funny how similar it's to the truth.

I feel Solas eyes on me when I turn from the tower and go into wilds. I wonder when he'll finally admit how much I had to change.

* * *

Like I, my parents were mages. I still remember father's lessons, tips, when I was learning for the first time how to freeze water or set bushes on fire.

 _"Every constellation on sky once were bones of our people,_ Blarnis'lan; _the ancient ones living before us - they are gone, and they left us their bodies. Blood became rivers and seas, flesh - hills and woods. Their spirit is now air. That why we,_ elvhen _, can breathe so easily and do magic."_

Dear father, you were so wrong. Gods aren't dead, they're just sleeping, lightly and wary, waiting for fall of mortals. (Otherwise, Solas would never wake up.)

I don't remember details of his face. When was the last time I saw him? Right before Conclave, when he was still alive and healthy, not massacred by greedy humans?

I remember only scarlet thick line of vallaslin on his nose, so often I touched it when I was a child. Sharp lines, like fire and sentence, repeated every time. _"I'm the flame that cannot fade."_

Mamae laughed then and said, _"And I, at his side, will keep glowing for eternity"._

* * *

I don't know where exactly is _Thene'Teralas_. The Wilds around don't look like forest near Wycome or even Tirashan from my childhood. It's wild, but not dangerous. Like place from imagination when you listen to old dalish legends.

This enormous tree is the same tree Dread Wolf was tied to. Ravine over there is actually great Abyss where Andruil hunted. Dragonflies at the lake are Mythal's dragons.

"I remember our conversation." I start because he stares at me waiting. Sun colors everything in gold and we eat sweet raspberries as if time doesn't exist. "You asked if I feel that Mark is changing my spirit."

"And you said that even if you couldn't see it, examine." This time he strokes my hairs. I would love to fall asleep in his arms, loved and secure, never wake up again. Wander together in eternity. But there are things that I have to say, materialize them. If I don't do it we'll endure in a state between grief and mutual blaming. That's why I force myself to open my eyes.

"I finally understand what you were afraid of. That part of you, your spirit is now in me. I just needed time to see it fully. Like with the voices from Well. And…"

I stop myself because that thought seems delirious. But I'm not delirious or crazy, my mind is like made of crystals.

"I think that my spirit joined yours and Mythal's. That there's more of me that should. Like I'm half divine myself."

We sit at lake few more hours and then return to drink tea in our tower.

* * *

Those of the most devoted of Solas agents, that come to our home, look at me like at being from dreams.

Maybe that's what I'm? Gentle spirit locked in the garden of eternal spring. Sometimes, when I'm lonely and bored, I make small snowflakes and speak to Daern's Flowers, the ones that in Ferelden are called Wild Flowers. In blue tunic, I'm waiting for the return of my loved one.

I want to be that simple girl again who people called _Blarnis'lan_ , the one that one day will become Keeper. But I'm not sure how much is left of her. the

"Anaris" Solas calls me. Again in his chair, trying to decipher old glyph. Another elf holds veilfire for him in an attempt of help.

Yet I don't even need to look at they work. Instead, I listen to screams, whispers and strangely comforting buzz in my head.

_"Why they laughed; why wept? Didn't they see the way for us?"_


End file.
